


Devil Wind

by mishasan7



Series: Afterburn [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Even though I took a bunch out, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Humor, Mild Smut, Non-Explicit Sex, Original Character(s), Pre-Season/Series 01, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 08:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishasan7/pseuds/mishasan7
Summary: Two cops are called to a disturbance down on the beachfront... a 911 call reported cannon fire, random screaming, and... tornadoes? It's just another day at the office for Long Beach PD at this time of year... or is it?Long-awaited (?) sequel to my first story in the Lucifandom, Devil's Haircut.





	Devil Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, FINALLY! Over two years after Devil's Haircut, here's the sequel... just in time before our long-awaited season 4 drops on Netflix. Hallelujah!!  
> It has taken a *damn* long time, and that's because while I really enjoyed writing our devil and demon fresh off the boat from Hell I really missed writing them with the rest of the gang, so I kept putting this story off in favour of other ones. But it's finally done - there might be another one to finish up, I don't know. Let me know what you think in the comments, if you want another chapter I'll do one, otherwise I might focus on my Joshua Trees WIP.

“This goddamned  _ Santa Ana _ ,” Sergeant Adam Haughston groused for the third time that night, scratching his balding head and heaving a put-upon sigh. “Damn ‘devil wind’. It drives everybody crazy.” His partner, Officer Ryan Gorski, a much younger, fitter man, glanced at him from the driver’s seat and wordlessly rolled his eyes. 

Bomb had been in L.A. what, now, five years? Plenty long enough for him to get used to the weather and not feel the need to keep bitching about it every. Single. Day. 

_ Yes _ , the Santa Ana wind blasts down off the desert and makes people a little nuts. 

_ Yes _ , it’s hot, and dry, and sets everyone’s nerves on edge, and assaults and murder rates spike. 

_ YES, I know! The wind is a pain in the ass but it happens every friggin’ spring so how can it keep being such a goddamn surprise?! _

Gorski made a vague noise of agreement in reply but kept his mouth shut; it wasn’t worth the hassle of starting something. Bomb took his position as Field Training Officer seriously, at least so far as he liked to lord it over ‘his’ rookies and hated being criticised or contradicted. Even when his latest ‘rookie’ had been on the beat over a year already. He also didn’t like doing much in the way of policing aside from throwing his considerable weight around, and should’ve long been driving a desk instead of his pudgy ass around the streets.

_ Wish the asshole had stayed in New York,  _ Gorski grumbled to himself.  _ Though they were no doubt sick of him too, which was probably why he got shunted over here. Why couldn’t he have just retired instead of me getting lumped with him? He’s a disgrace to the badge. _

Bomb’s complaining was annoying as hell but he wasn’t actually wrong; the past week had been chaos. It was all a blur of stabbings, shootings, road rage incidents, punch-ups in the street and property destruction. Tonight, however, promised to be a little different, as after a merry-go-round of assaults and domestic disputes they were responding to reports of cannon fire, tornadoes and random screaming down at Junipero Beach.

_ For fuck’s sake _ , Ryan thought, rubbing his eyes in frustration,  _ we should just skip straight to hunting down whoever called this crap in _ . He was pretty sure they’d find them either high as a kite having hallucinations or laughing their asses off at having sent the Long Beach PD on a wild goose chase. But they’d gotten the call, so they were attending, even though it was sure to be a massive waste of time.

They drove past Shoreline Marina, the yachts bobbing gently at their moorings, and parked at Alamitos. While the area was busy with people during daylight hours, it was deserted at this time of night, and surprise, surprise, there was no tornado, no artillery fire and no screaming going on. Just a few bored-looking seagulls and the susurrus of waves breaking endlessly on the sandy beach. 

Beyond the glow of the parking lot lights the soft sand disappeared into the darkness, with only the faintly moonlit whitecaps of the surf visible through the dark grey gloom. The 911 call had come in about ten minutes earlier from a distant block of apartments that overlooked this section of beach; their next stop if, or more likely,  _ when _ , this turned out to be a crank call.

The two cops got out of the patrol car and while Gorski checked his gear he looked over at Bomb. He was leaning on the hood, scratching himself.

“You coming or what?”

His partner got the constipated look that he always got when he was trying to weasel out of something. “This is bullshit. You know it, I know it. Let’s just go get a coffee.”

“Sarge, we got the call. We need to check it out.”

Bomb hawked and spat on the sidewalk. “Nah we don’t. Twisters and cannons? Gimme a break. You blue flamers think we gotta do due diligence on every little car backfire and conspiracy nut theory that gets called in? Do that and you’ll be chasing your tail nonstop in this whackjob town. You wanna waste your time? Go right ahead.”

Gorski hid his irritation. He knew perfectly well why Bomb didn’t want to go, and it was nothing to do with the fact it was probably a crank call. He just couldn’t be bothered dragging his ass out of the patrol car. He was quite willing to let his partner walk into an unknown situation - had done it on numerous occasions, in fact - just because he was too goddamned lazy to do his job and back him up.

Gorski was envious as Hell of his pal Espinoza ; he’d really hit the partner jackpot, the lucky jerk.  _ He gets a hot AF former actress as a partner and I get stuck with this flat-assed useless piece of shit... _

“Sure thing, Sarge. You know me, right?” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Gotta do everything by the book. And all that paperwork too… gotta dot those ‘i’s and cross those ‘t’s...”

He suppressed a grin when Bomb glanced warily back at him. His partner was a bureaucrat at heart and had finely tuned survival instincts after over twenty years on the force. He’d heard the subtle emphasis on  _ paperwork  _ and realised the threat - he knew his charge well enough to know that he’d put every little detail into this particular report, which included the damning fact that a supervising officer had refused to back up his subordinate. 

Bomb cursed under his breath, grabbed his nightstick from the front seat, checked his sidearm, and they stepped onto the quiet beach.

The lights from the parking lot soon fell behind them. The dim glow from the distant apartment blocks and the sliver of moon above them weren’t sufficient to light their way so Gorski clicked on his flashlight and took the lead. They trudged along, a warm wind stirring the sand. The surf, shifting pale ribbons of moonlit foam, rumbled softly in the darkness to their right. 

_ Looks like this is gonna be a goose chase after all _ , Gorski thought. No surprise there. But at least it broke up the monotony of all the stabbings and shootings.  _ Besides,  _ he thought, grinning in spiteful pleasure,  _ it’s worth it to hear Bomb wheezing like an asthmatic Darth Vader back there. _

Another sound suddenly cut through the darkness; a loud animal snarl. It came from the gloom up ahead, and it sounded close by. The two cops froze.  _ Oh shit. _

That definitely sounded like a wild animal. Could be a stray dog, but they weren’t usually this aggressive...

“Do coyotes come down the beach?” Gorski whispered. Both cops’ hands dropped subconsciously to their holsters.

Haughston gulped and pointed into the darkness on their right. “Gorski! Dump some light over there wouldja?”

The young cop pointed his flashlight in the direction of the surf. They couldn’t see anything. Gorski kept moving forward and his partner reluctantly followed, not wanting to be left behind. 

Haughston decided this was definitely a job for animal control. And _definitely_ somewhere he didn’t want to be. He whined, “I’m getting a hinky feeling about this,” and the next thing Gorski knew he’d pulled his sidearm.

“For Chrissakes holster that, what do you think you’re doing?! We don’t know who’s down here!” Gorski hissed.

“It’s an animal, man! A coyote or something! It sounds pissed. Didn’t you hear it?”

Haughston shakily pointed his weapon towards the water, his innate cowardice screaming at him to run back to the patrol car, to Hell with what the rookie thought of him. But he didn’t want to turn his back on whatever was out there - he had always hated dogs, and they hated him right back, and something just felt… really wrong.

Suddenly twin glows like eyes reflected redly in the darkness beyond the flashlight’s beam. All the hair on the back of the older man’s neck stood up and his knees shook so hard they nearly gave way. Then another menacing growl echoed across the sand, so deep and loud and close he  _ felt _ it reverberate deep inside his chest. 

_ Fuck!  _ He yelled in panic and fired twice at the animal, the gunshots deafeningly loud on the quiet beach. 

Gorski nearly jumped out of his skin. Then a loud exclamation like a curse erupted from the shadows up ahead and the young cop’s stomach dropped straight to his knees.

_ Oh, fuck me,  _ he thought in a panic,  _ he’s actually gone and shot somebody. _

Then a surprisingly British voice floated out of the darkness. “What the bloody Hell was that?”

Gorski rushed forward to help. Revealed at the very limit of his flashlight’s circle of light was a tangled shape in the sand. As he got nearer, it resolved itself into a dark-haired, fair-skinned man lying on top of a dark-skinned woman. Gorski breathed a massive sigh of relief; his initial fear that they’d been felled by bullets soon proved unfounded, as neither of them was bleeding. He could tell that at a glance as both were completely naked. 

The man was holding himself up on one arm and rubbing his forehead furiously with his free hand. Meanwhile, the woman had thrown her head back to glare upside down at the two cops with a look that burned with unbridled loathing. Gorski swallowed. He wasn’t a rookie any more, he’d seen some shit, but there was something extremely disconcerting in that panther gaze.

The woman twisted angrily and tried to get up but the man held her down, dropping his free hand to pin her wrists to the sand.

He remarked mildly, “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.”

The woman stopped struggling and said, “But my Lord, this human scum attacked you! Such an insult cannot go unpunished…”

“Plenty of time for that. Right now I require your  _ undivided  _ attention…” The hand released her wrist and slid downwards, and a moment later the woman gasped and started moaning. The Brit cast a disinterested glance over at the two flustered cops standing on the sand and ordered brusquely, “Leave us.”

And then the pair carried on screwing like the cops weren’t even there.

Gorski was kinda grateful they were distracted as he was still reeling at the close call, his heart pounding. 

_ He missed. Thank Christ my shit-for-brains partner didn’t just shoot dead a clearly-unarmed-as-well- as- clearly- unclothed British backpacker and his girlfriend having sex on the beach. _

Meanwhile Bomb seemed to be feeling braver with his gun in his hand and was trying unsuccessfully to get the couple’s attention.

“Hey! LAPD! Break it up!” Pissed at being ignored, Bomb stuck out his chest and marched over, no doubt intending to employ his usual fight-dispersing method of a kick to the ribs. Gorski, scowling, blocked him and hissed furiously, “Are you kidding me with this shit? Back off! You could have fucking killed them!”

Bomb snorted contemptuously. “Don’t be such a little bitch. Nothing happened.”

Gorski fumed, “Yeah, only by sheer dumb luck!” He couldn’t believe it. He was reporting his partner for this, he didn’t care if he got branded a snitch. It was no secret Gorski wanted out of his partnership with Bomb, but no one else would work with the lazy bastard. Gorski was the rookie and hadn’t had a choice in the matter, but hopefully this would be enough to get this slippery, skeezy cop out of his life and maybe even off the force.

The thought cheered Gorski immensely and he relaxed a little. The initial crisis was over, and this call was actually turning out pretty promising. Okay, there were no tornadoes, no coyotes and no cannons, just a couple of butt nekkid hippies having sex on the beach, but this callout could turn out to be a godsend if it helped him finally get rid of Bomb. He glanced up at the sky and sighed.

_ Thanks, big guy. Never thought I’d be glad for an extra helping of crazy this time of year,  _ he mused.  _ It’s not even a full moon. _

Just at that moment the pair groaned loudly and the man rolled over, giving Gorski an eyeful of his bare ass. He snorted in amusement.  _ Guess I spoke too soon. _

“All right, break it up...” Thankfully they seemed to have… finished. The couple lay shamelessly entwined on the sand looking up at the two cops but making no move to get up or cover themselves. They really didn’t seem to give a shit.

Bomb licked the end of his pencil and started writing in his notebook. “Right. I’m booking you two for indecent exposure, lewd and obscene conduct, PMO and a GDA.”

The Brit tilted his head thoughtfully and laced his fingers behind his head. “‘Booking’? Are you referring to the Book of Laws?”

The two cops traded glances. Bomb said uncertainly, “Yeah?” He’d never been well-versed in legalities and all the fine print. Shit. Was this guy a lawyer?

The man said scornfully, “‘Lewd and obscene conduct’? I have never heard of such a commandment. Which means it doesn’t exist.” He laughed, then glanced down at the woman by his side and added in a voice dripping with condescension, “Do you see? Free will at work.” He shook his head, looking at the two cops with something akin to pity, but more like contempt. “God’s willing sheep come up with ever more meaningless oblations to enslave themselves and suck every last vestige of pleasure from their existence.”

The two cops again traded glances.  _ Great. Jesus freaks. _

Gorski attempted to engage, all friendly-like.  _ I’m the good cop _ . “You guys from outta town, huh?”

The Brit raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

Gorski raised his eyebrows. “Wild guess. What’re you doing in LA?”

“Retirement, if all goes well,” the man replied.

“You seem a little young for that.”

The man levelled a brilliant smile at him. Charming, even buck naked. “I’m much older than I look.”

_ Posher too,  _ Gorski thought, judging by the fancy accent.  _ Probably not backpackers after all. But still, too old to be running around screwing on public beaches in the middle of the night.  _ Then with all the experience of over a year on the beat, he shrugged philosophically.

_ Meh _ , he thought.  _ This is LA. _

Bomb cut in, annoyed. “This isn’t goddamn happy hour, bucko,” And started reading the pair their rights. Gorski shook his head at his partner’s lack of people skills and rolled his eyes at some of the ‘charges’ Bomb had decided to hit them with;  _ PMO  _ and  _ GDA _ being copspeak for “pissed me off” and “general dumb ass”. 

The charges shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but Gorski decided he’d still  call the British Embassy in the morning once they were processed. If they could process them; Bomb was currently trying to get the Brit’s details but said Brit was being as unhelpful as possible. Gorski smiled. He couldn’t help it; he was starting to like this guy. Pissing off his partner was one of his favourite pastimes and this snarky Englishman seemed particularly good at it. And Bomb was an asshole who deserved everything he got.

“Name?”

“I go by many names,” the Brit replied enigmatically.

Bomb pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted irritably. “Gimme one.”

The guy heaved an impatient sigh, then smirked and answered, “My name is Legion.”

“I need a given name too.”

“Satan.” Bomb gave him a look, but the guy just stared back, then shrugged. “It was given to me.”

Okay, not a Jesus freak, just your garden variety smartass.

“Name.”

“Beelzebub.”

“Name.”

“Belial.”

“ _ Name _ ?”

“Nick.”

Haughston blew out a relieved breath. Right, finally. Nicholas Legion. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Got I.D.?” Legion raised his eyebrows and Haughston belatedly realised what a stupid question that was, considering the man’s naked state. He tried to recover. “...Somewhere? Got somebody that can vouch for you?”

The man looked back at him blankly. “I.D.?”

Haughston huffed impatiently. “Oh, for…  _ yes!  _ Identification. Driver’s licence! Passport! Anything to prove you are who you say you are.”

Legion frowned. “Is my word not enough?”

“No,” Haughston replied bluntly.

“Then no, I don’t.”

Haughston turned his attention to the woman, trying very hard to keep his eyes on her face because she looked like she was just itching for an excuse to get up and deck him. “Uh… what about you, er, Miss?”

She gave him a look that could sear flesh. “I do not answer to you.”

Gorski looked at the Brit. He simply shrugged, an amused challenge in his dark eyes. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Okay, fine. I.D. or no I.D., you need to come with us.”

Legion chuckled. “Do we now?” But he got to his feet, the woman following suit. Even barefoot, standing at his full height Legion towered over all three of them. He was 6’2” or 6’3”, broad-shouldered and muscular but lean, with curly shoulder-length black hair and a full beard. The woman was shorter but also muscular, with long, snarled dark hair that partly obscured her face and the ready stance of a fighter. The impression was aided by the small scar that bisected her left eyebrow and the pissed off look on her face. Gorski kept a wary eye on her.

“Your address?” 

“We are currently without residence. Free agents, if you will.” He lifted his chin at that, and threw his shoulders back a little. He was proud of being homeless? Definitely one for the embassy. And maybe a shrink.

Gorski asked kindly, “Have you eaten today, Sir?” 

Legion threw him a surprised look, then replied with a smile, “No, not yet. But we are  _ very _ much looking forward to it.”

“Where’s your clothes?”

“Haven’t got round to that yet either. We’ve only just arrived!”

Gorski frowned. “So what happened? You got off at LAX, came straight here, got mugged, then decided to have a little nookie to celebrate?”

The couple looked at each other blankly, then Legion shrugged. “I neither know nor care what he is talking about.” He sighed. “I tire of this. Shall we?” He suddenly turned and swept the woman into his arms, then looked up. Instantly his eyes widened and his head whipped around to look behind him with a startled expression on his face. After a moment he relaxed and nodded.

“Ah yes,” he said, adding a little sheepishly, “Of course. I forgot. Still getting used to it.” The woman rolled her eyes. Legion put her down again then addressed the two cops, who were giving him very strange looks. 

“Very well, then. You may take us where we need to go.”

\-----------------

Bomb insisted on putting handcuffs on them, much to Gorski’s disgust.

The man laughingly complied; he seemed to think it was a great joke. “Manacles? Are you going to  _ punish  _ us, then?” He chuckled gleefully. “Tell me, what’s the penalty for fornication on a beach with no one to bear witness except God and His host of angelic perverts?”

Gorski answered, “It’s a misdemeanor, so probably only a fine. Unless you’ve done it before, in which case don’t do it again or it’s a felony.”

Legion gave a disbelieving snort, then started to laugh. “A  _ fine _ ? I’m merely required to cross your palm with silver? No floggings or even a little stoning? Astounding.” He chuckled like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, then studied the cops with seemingly genuine curiosity. “Do you actually believe in this ridiculous law, or are you merely blindly obedient to its enforcement?”

Meanwhile the woman looked on in silent disgust, clenching and unclenching her fists behind her back as if itching to punch somebody.

On the short trek back to the patrol car Legion asked loads of general questions about L.A. as well as a few more left field ones including whether they went to church and how boring they thought it was. He was also particularly interested in knowing how much they used drugs and which one was their favourite. Gorski revised his earlier opinion that they were hippies; maybe they were Wiccans or something. 

They talked weird, and Wiccans did outdoor sex stuff didn’t they? And the fixation on religion and that crap about being Satan  - could be some kinda wackadoo roleplay Devil/witch sex thing? Witches did that; at least, they did in the movies. And they were obviously into nature and looking a little wild; the dude looked like Tarzan Jesus.

Gorski was also horrified to discover Legion had two large, fairly recent-looking wounds on his back. Burns, by the look of them; enormous matching crescents of still-healing, angry pebbled flesh. But when he tried to get a closer look Legion wouldn’t let him near them. 

“Those look bad. Did you get them looked at by a doctor? Burns get infected easy.”

Legion shook his head dismissively. “They are not important, and none of your concern.”

“How did it happen? It looks like somebody-”

“I  _ said _ ,” Legion glared at him then, all trace of his earlier affability gone, “It is none of your concern.”

“Okay, okay. Fine.” Gorski put up his hands in a placating gesture. Cops be nosy, but he couldn’t force somebody to accept medical help.

On the walk back he noticed the pair also seemed to have some kinda strong sulphur smell wafting off them. The acrid stink of burnt matches permeated the patrol car as soon as they got in the back seat.

Bomb got in, coughed and said rudely, “ _ Faugh _ … did one of you fart or something?”

Legion replied curiously, “What is this ‘fart’ you speak of?”

“That smell! It reeks!”

The woman breathed deeply and nodded. “It is the stench of the damned being torched for eternity deep in the bowels of Hell.” Her usually forbidding expression lightened for a moment and she looked almost happy.

Gorski’s nose wrinkled as he fanned the fetid air. ‘ _ Bowels’ is right, _ he muttered under his breath.

“Goddamn dirty hippies and their personal hygiene deficit. My  _ car! _ ” Bomb whined.

Gorski retorted, “Well we can hardly put ‘em in the trunk, can we? You’re the one that wanted to book ‘em!” 

He was watching Bomb’s face and could tell the exact moment he changed his mind and decided to cut them loose. Gorski had developed a bit of a soft spot for these two however, God knows why, and he was a little concerned for their wellbeing. Mugged and losing everything within hours of landing in LA, then getting harassed by law enforcement and dumped without assistance on the side of the road would hardly the best endorsement for the City of Angels. Besides, if he didn’t process them he wouldn’t be able to get their statements about the shooting and finally get Bomb out of his life. And maybe he could talk Legion into getting medical attention.

So before Bomb could stop him Gorski grabbed the radio and called in the arrest. His partner glared daggers at him, but Gorski merely shrugged, gave him a shit-eating grin and started the engine. 

They pulled onto East Shoreline Drive and headed for the precinct, Legion’s questions having finally subsided and the car blissfully quiet.

For about a minute and a half. 

Then a breathy gasp came from the shadows behind them, followed by a deep, masculine chuckle.

“Fancy ticking something else off the bucket list?” 

The woman moaned. “Yesss...”

Haughston turned in his seat to see what was going on and goggled in bug-eyed disbelief. Legion was somehow out of his cuffs and had his girlfriend flat on her back across the seat, his body on top of hers but one of her feet propped on the window behind him. His long curly hair shielded both of their faces from view, but from the sounds of things they were at it again.

“Hey! Stop that! How the hell did you get out of your cuffs?” the fat cop blustered. Legion ignored him and continued sucking on his girlfriend’s face. The woman then apparently came up for air and gasped, “No! Leave my shackles on, my Lord! I like them!”

In response Legion hummed in approval, knelt back on the seat, and lifted his girlfriend’s hips so high she could wrap her thighs around his head. Which she promptly did. Haughston gaped at them in horror and howled, “Quit it! You’re gonna mess up my patrol car!”

The woman gasped again and her foot reflexively shot out and hit the window. With a loud  _ crack _ the glass shattered, exploding outwards. Gorski flinched at the sound, jerking the wheel slightly, and swore. 

“Fuck!” He glanced in the rearview mirror but couldn’t quite figure out what he was looking at. Was that … an ass cheek?

“Hey! What the hell is going on back there? Cut that shit out!” When there was no answer Gorski frowned and gave the brakes a quick hard pump, and the pair slammed forward into the mesh partition. 

A moment later the woman growled in fury and there was a sliding metallic sound near Gorski’s ear like the closing of a large pair of scissors. Then a thump and a grunt and it sounded like the pair were back to wrestling behind him. He felt something hit the back of his seat and forcefully shove him forward.

“Bloody Hell,  _ easy Mazikeen _ !” came the man’s voice, followed by several guttural words that sounded like cursing. “They are giving us a lift after all, so if you would please refrain from skewering the stupid sods...”

Gorski thumped the steering wheel. “Cut it out! I can’t believe I have to say this, but no screwing in the back of the patrol car!” He huffed in disgust. 

_ These two better be worth it,  _ he thought in annoyance. Before cynically adding,  _ probably not _ .

He growled in frustration.  _ “ _ Can’t believe we’re babysitting weirdos when we should be out chasing  _ real criminals _ ! I am  _ not  _ spending the rest of my night scrubbing hippie splooge outta the backseat!” 

Gorski belatedly realised he’d said that second part out loud. He glanced into the rearview mirror to check on said weirdos and saw Legion was right up close to the mesh, levelling an unnervingly black stare at him. He went to put his eyes back on the road, but to his surprise he found he couldn’t. He was pinned, helpless, by Legion’s mesmerising gaze. 

His other senses faded away to a high pitched ringing in his ears and he felt oddly disconnected from everything around him. He faintly heard Bomb yelling and felt the car swerve as his partner grabbed the steering wheel, but he still couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

“‘Chasing real criminals’ _ ,  _ is it?” Legion asked, his voice echoing strangely in Gorski’s head. “So... you feel a calling to punish the guilty?” Gorski nodded dumbly and Legion gave him a small smile, his head cocked inquisitively. “How interesting.” His dark eyes were hypnotic, unblinking. “Tell me… what else do you desire?”

Legion’s deep voice slid seductively into his ears and seemed to coil itself around his brain.  The strange ringing faded away leaving only Legion’s voice, echoing in his thoughts as if they were his own; suggesting, coaxing, then finally commanding. Gorski felt his inhibitions falling away.

_ Tell me… _

Then, to Gorski’s surprise, he heard himself say, “I wanna prove myself and make detective. And get the hell outta this patrol car so I don’t have to work with this useless asshole any more.” 

He saw Legion’s eyes crinkle in a delighted grin and heard Bomb splutter, “You ungrateful little punk!” Then Bomb cursed and the steering wheel again jerked under Gorski’s hands. The car swerved violently and the movement served to rouse Gorski from his trance. 

He blinked and dragged his eyes back to the road, then irritably slapped his partner’s hands away from the steering wheel. “I  _ got  _ it, Bomb!” 

He glanced at his partner, who was looking back at him with a  _ what the fuck  _ expression on his face, and shook his head, disoriented. “What just happened?” he mumbled to himself. 

_ Did I just say Bomb was a useless asshole? And then call him ‘Bomb’ to his face?  _ He was stunned for a moment, then snorted a laugh.  _ That felt fantastic!  _

Had Legion done some kinda eye voodoo on him, like party trick hypnosis or something? Post hypnotic suggestion? He was positive Legion had done  _ something _ , but he wasn’t pissed at him. On the contrary, he was actually sorta grateful. He felt goddamn  _ liberated _ !

Bomb was gaping at him, furious, but Gorski merely shrugged. “Whatever dude, you know I’ve got a point.”

Legion asked curiously, “What did you call him? ‘Bomb’? His name badge says Haughston, does it not?”

Gorski grinned. “Yeah. But his first name is Adam.” 

Legion raised a questioning eyebrow. “And…?”

“Adam Bomb. Get it? I mean, just look at him.” 

Legion dissolved into surprised laughter. “I see! Well played.”

Bomb’s face had turned an alarming shade of red but Gorski found he really didn’t give a shit anymore. Man, it’d felt  _ good  _ to get that out! He’d been itching to tell Bomb what he thought of him since day one.

Bomb started swearing under his breath, muttering about insubordination and disciplinary action but Gorski ignored him. He felt way too good to worry about what spiteful little games Bomb might try in retaliation. Besides, after over a year working with him he had more than enough dirt on Bomb to give as good as he got.

Legion eyed Gorski thoughtfully, cleared his throat and said casually, “I might be able to help you with that, actually...”

Gorski kept his eyes firmly on the road this time. “With what?”

“Why, becoming a detective, of course!”

Gorski was counting on Legion’s help to get rid of Bomb, but how could he possibly help him get a promotion? He gave a skeptical snort.

“Yeah? How? You don’t even have clothes or a place to stay. You gonna call up your pal the Chief of Police and put in a good word for me?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Legion dismissively flap his hand. “It’s not  _ who  _ I know, at least not yet,” he replied. “I just happen to know where there’s drug transactions happening on a near-daily basis, and that there’s a rather big one tonight. Apprehending those involved would be beneficial to your career, would it not?”

Bomb finally returned to life, spluttering, “You’re goddamn tourists! What the hell would you know?” He paused as something occurred to him. “You people drug mules or something?” Then he grunted as he turned his bulk awkwardly in his seat to smile nastily at the man behind him. “Congratulations, pal. You just earned yourself a cavity search once we get back to the station.”

Legion gave Haughston a haughty once over and his lip curled. “From  _ you _ ? I think not.” He returned his attention to the younger cop and smiled at him winningly in the rearview mirror. “Officer Gorski, on the other hand...” his smile turned flirtatious. “I would be only too happy to submit to  _ your _ authority...”

Gorski frowned back at him, a little pissed; Legion was just messing with him. “You’re full of shit.”

Legion fell silent for a moment. When he continued, his voice was devoid of all warmth. “If by that charming expression you mean to imply I am not telling you the truth, that is  _ not _ the case.” The warning in his tone took Gorski by surprise. 

He glanced at Legion in the mirror and saw the passing streetlights reflecting redly in his eyes. It was only for a moment, then Legion was throwing him a wounded look. “I don’t lie,” he added resolutely.

Gorski was feeling a bit off balance because of the weird turns the conversation was taking and retaliated by rolling his eyes. “Riiight. You guys are from outta town, you got no money or even clothes, but you just happen to have important information on the local drug scene. God’s honest truth. Sure. Whatever.”

Legion huffed. “ _ He _ has got nothing whatsoever to do with this. We just did some reconnaissance before we crossed over, is all.”

Bomb retorted, “Why should we believe you know anything about anything?”

Legion smiled patronisingly at him and replied, “We happen to have had dealings with many drug lords over the years. As a matter of fact, my right hand demon here has dealt  _ personally _ with some of the biggest names in the business.”

Gorski frowned and peered in the mirror at the woman, who gazed impassively back at him, giving nothing away. Gorski was trying to sort through Legion’s oddball ‘demonic’ doublespeak; there was definitely something off about these two, and he had to admit their being involved with drugs could explain some of it. Legion was certainly ballsy enough to be a dealer, and he did give off a shady underworld-type vibe. It was quite possible he was high right now, even though he didn’t look it.

For all he knew they’d jumped off a Mexican drug boat and swum ashore. Maybe they were involved in a cartel and would rat out their associates in exchange for asylum? Improbable. 

But not impossible. Come to think of it the woman looked tough enough to be some kind of mercenary, and judging by the protective way she had acted towards Legion maybe she was his bodyguard. Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea. Making detective meant showing initiative, getting experience, following his instincts and taking risks, and he was feeling emboldened after giving Bomb a piece of his mind. Taking down a local dealer - or even better, a gang of them - would definitely look good on his resumé.

He addressed Legion. “You guys really have information on a local cartel? You’re saying you want to cut a deal?”

Legion beamed. “Now you’re getting it.”

“I need details. Who, when and where. Convince me.”

Before the man could answer Bomb exploded. “We can’t follow a tip off on a bust with a couple of collars in the backseat! Are you crazy?”

Gorski snorted. He’d always thought Bomb with his New York slang sounded like he learned to be a cop by sitting on his ass watching TV. He was done putting up with him.

“Park it, or I’ll tell the Lieu how you shot at a couple of unarmed tourists on the beach tonight.” He was planning on telling him anyway, and whether or not the tourists were involved in drug smuggling was beside the point.

Bomb opened and shut his mouth several times, looking like a stunned mullet, and Gorski returned his attention to Legion, flicking a glance at him in the rearview mirror. “Well?”

Legion gazed back at him appraisingly, then gave up the name of a notorious biker gang in West LA. It wasn’t enough to convince him until Legion mentioned a couple of people whom Gorski recognised from various Narcotics operations and word on the street. His interest was piqued and he hummed thoughtfully. Unlikely as it seemed at first, maybe Legion was actually on the level.

“Alright. Say your tipoff is legit. What do you want for this information? Witness protection?”

Legion chuckled. “What makes you think I need protection?” Then he sobered, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “These miscreants are common thugs, dealing in murder and misery, and on top of that they have the nerve to go around calling themselves  _ Los Diablos.”  _ His eyes darkened. “I find that offensive and they need to be punished for it.” Then he added flippantly, “That, and I want some of their drugs.”

Gorski raised an amused eyebrow at Legion’s dry sense of humour. “Right. Yeah, sure, no problem, we do it all the time,” he deadpanned.

Legion nodded. “Deal.”

\----------------

By the time they pulled up a safe distance from the gang’s clubhouse it was nearly midnight. Gorski killed the engine and turned to Bomb. “You’re not gonna back me up on this, I’m guessing?”

Bomb seemed to have folded in on himself in his seat, his normally ruddy face pale. “You’re making a big mistake.”

Gorski ignored him, turning to address Legion. “You two are going to stay here with Haughston while I go take a looky-loo.”

Legion scoffed and replied, “That wasn’t part of the deal.” He promptly flung open the back door and climbed out, the woman following close behind. 

Gorski blinked and looked back in confusion. What the hell? How’d he get the door open? The perp locks were still engaged!

“What the Hell? How did you-?”

Legion threw a casual  _ thanks for the lift _ over his shoulder and the woman slammed the door behind them, tossing her handcuffs onto the backseat through the shattered window.

“Stop! Wait!” he hissed after them, trying to keep his voice down, but they completely ignored him. They headed up the darkened street, straight for the entrance to the gang’s compound. 

Gorski whisper-yelled,“No! Stop! Get the Hell back here!” He wrenched the door open and leapt out of the car but when he looked for them again they’d vanished into the shadows.

“ _ Dammit! _ ” Gorski stuck his head back inside and growled at his partner, “Let’s go!”

Bomb shook his head furiously. “No fuckin’ way. And you’re not going in there either, Gorski, you’ll get yourself killed and it won’t be my fault.”

Gorski shook his head in disbelief. “And you call yourself a cop,” he said in disgust. “Call for backup then.”

Bomb threw his hands in the air. “And tell them what? You have no idea what the situation is in there! All you’ve got is the word of some nutcase! For all you know they’re setting us up!”

“Yeah, right,” Gorski muttered, grabbing his gear. “They’ve done all this just to mess with us. Haughston, there is something else going on here, but we arrested them, we’re responsible for them. Either way, I’m going, and we need backup. I don’t care what you tell dispatch. Anonymous tip, suspicious activity, whatever. Just get somebody here  _ now _ .”

Gorski turned and left, pulling his sidearm. He hurried down the dimly lit street, praying that Legion and the woman hadn’t been spotted yet. The gate was open and he slipped silently through, and from the darkness ahead he suddenly heard whistles, catcalls, and several voices rising in laughter. Then some banging and jocularity in an unfamiliar Texan drawl. 

“Hey! Y’all need to come see this shit! Get out here!”

_ Oh, crap.  _ His heart sank. 

He crept toward the voices, using the darkness and a row of motorcycles as cover. He tried desperately to think of what to do. He could try to subdue the gangbangers before Legion and his girlfriend got hurt, but it sounded like there were way too many of them to handle on his own…

Maybe he could make a distraction and give the pair a chance to escape; that might work except for the fact that they seemed to fucking  _ want _ to be here...

Maybe backup would arrive in the next ten seconds and the bikers would just let them walk out of here..?

_ Shit _ .

He got as close as he could, staying out of sight. He couldn’t see that well in the dim light but he could make out several men standing in the shadows around Legion and the woman. Drawn by the commotion, dozens more gang members were emerging from the bright rectangle of the clubhouse door about a hundred feet away, laughing and nursing drinks, the faint riffs of Jimi Hendrix’ cover of  _ All Along the Watchtower _ following them across the lot. Most wore motorcycle leathers and heavy boots, and Gorski could tell by their stances that pretty much everyone was armed.

Legion had no trouble getting everyone’s attention, being over six feet tall, buck naked and accompanied by a stunning, also naked woman, but he still clapped his hands at them like a teacher rounding up a gang of rowdy students.

“Excuse me! We’re here to see the bipedal rodent that goes by the name of Zane Wyatt. Where is he?” 

Gorski wordlessly shook his head. What the Hell did Legion think he was doing?

A wiry middle-aged man in a battered leather vest with a greying beard and rat-tail sauntered forward lighting a cigarette, and blew smoke in Legion’s direction.

“There you are,” said Legion grandly. “The big cheese of the so-called  _ Los Diablos _ .” There was no missing the scorn in his suave British voice as he looked around the crowd. “What a woeful-looking bunch you all are.”

Wyatt looked him up and down, glanced around at the others, then snickered and said in a fair approximation of a Schwartzenegger accent, “Gimme your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle.” The crowd erupted into laughter.

Legion gave him an impatient look. “As you can plainly see, you gormless wonder, I don’t have any of those things.”

Wyatt, still smiling, shook his head. “The fuck is this?” He looked around the assembled group again and said a little louder, “One of you assholes get me a strip-o-gram?”

They all shrugged and shook their heads. Wyatt turned back to find that Legion had moved closer and was standing right in front of him with a devil-may-care grin on his face.

Wyatt subconsciously took a half step back, then growled, “Then what the fuck you doing here, man? Sightseeing?”

Legion replied cheerfully, “It’s quite simple. We’re here because you practically threw out the welcome mat with that poser club name of yours. In addition, you have something we want.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Why, drugs, of course.” There was a titter of incredulous laughter through the crowd.

Legion added magnanimously, “We’re not picky. We’d just like a selection of everything you’ve got.” 

Wyatt looked like he’d decided Legion was an escaped mental patient, and at this point Gorski was inclined to agree with him.

“If you’re off your meds that’s your problem. Get the hell outta here.”

Legion replied matter-of-factly, “Not until you give me what I came for.”

The biker stroked his beard and hummed in mock thoughtfulness. “Drugs, huh? Even if we had any, they ain’t cheap you know. You look like you, ah,” he gestured at their naked bodies and said pointedly, “Forgot your wallets?” The club members around him started sniggering again. “How you plan on paying for them?”

Legion threw him a shit-eating grin. “We don’t.”

Wyatt seemed to have had enough. “Is that so,” he replied bluntly. He looked over at Legion’s companion and added with a leer, “You want we should take it out in trade on your girlfriend?”

The woman gazed impassively back at him but Legion blithely answered, “I wouldn’t recommend trying it.”

By way of response one of the bikers stepped up behind the woman and grabbed the back of her neck. She pivoted out of his grasp and seized his arm with astonishing speed, and there was a muffled, sickening crack. The guy dropped to his knees on the asphalt, his arm bent up at an unnatural angle behind him. He let out a yelp of shock and pain and the woman leaned down, applying further pressure until he screamed. The woman smiled and locked gazes with Wyatt, a warning gleam in her eyes. Then she murmured sensuously into her assailant’s ear.

“Not without my permission.”

“Ooh,” Legion winced in mock sympathy. “I did warn you.” Then he smirked and added condescendingly, “You forgot - the only substitute for good manners is fast reflexes.”

The gang’s mood abruptly changed. Knives and knuckle dusters appeared in every hand, everyone’s posture telegraphing their readiness to attack. Wyatt pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the woman, glowering. “Let him go, bitch.”

The woman looked to Legion, who kept his eyes fixed on the gang leader but gave an almost imperceptible nod. She shoved the man roughly to the ground then straightened and cracked her knuckles. She looked around at several members of the gang with an expression on her face that was equal parts contempt and eagerness. Her complete lack of fear was unsettling; one or two gang members shifted uncomfortably and tightened their grip on their weapons. The guy with the broken arm beat a hasty retreat.

Wyatt lowered his gun but didn’t put it away, and Legion looked expectantly at him. “Well? Come on, we haven’t got all night. Give us what we want and we’ll leave you tossers to it.”

Wyatt shook his head.  _ This crazy fuck,  _ he thought. “The only things we’re gonna give you two are a beating and some bullets to the head. We don’t take kindly to people who come into our place of business and give orders.”

“Well then,” Legion said casually, but with a clear undercurrent of threat, “I suppose we’ll just have to take it.”

Wyatt’s lips pulled back and he jeered. “I’d like to see you try.” He lifted his gun again, this time pointing it at Legion’s head.

Legion’s eyebrows lifted in amusement and he fixed his dark gaze on the biker. “Would you now?” He moved a little closer, his voice dropping to a deeper register. “What else would you...  _ like _ ?”

Wyatt’s face slackened. “Uh…”

_ A gun to his head and he’s trying to hypnotise the son of a bitch _ , Gorski thought in disbelief, his grip tightening on his own weapon as he braced himself to step in. _ I hope he’s as good as he thinks he is. _

The biker’s gun arm started to waver slightly. “I...I… wanna…”

“Yess?” Legion encouraged, leaning even closer. 

Gorski held his breath. Maybe Legion’s weird hypno-gimmick could actually get them outta this...

Wyatt blinked, then his expression darkened and his arm swung around to aim his gun at a slightly younger man with a buzzcut and a studded leather jacket who was standing nearby. 

The man blanched, backing away. “Fuck, Zane, what the Hell are you-?” He went to pull his own gun but before he could, Wyatt squeezed the trigger. 

The gunshot rang out deafeningly loud in the still night, and the man grunted and staggered backwards, a dark stain blossoming high on his white t shirt. He collapsed to the ground, groaning, and in the ensuing shocked silence Gorski heard Legion and his girlfriend  _ laughing _ .

Legion chortled incredulously, “What on Earth did you want to do  _ that _ for?”

Wyatt took a threatening step towards the fallen man, who was cursing and still trying to wrestle his gun out. “This asshole is trying to take over my operation. Stealing from me, turning my own people against me...” He glanced around the crowd, where several people had lowered their weapons and started backing warily away. Others, however, were throwing him filthy looks as they hurried over to help the injured man.

“Ah.” Legion nodded in understanding, then added with disapproval in his tone, “While I do understand the need to maintain discipline, murdering your fellow humans might be a  _ tad _ excessive, don’t you think?”

Behind him, Legion’s girlfriend sniggered. She actually seemed to be enjoying this.

Wyatt then turned to glare at a woman who stood over nearer the clubhouse door. She had bottle-blonde hair with black streaks and her thickly mascara-ed eyes widened in alarm. Wyatt shouted, “Maybe, if Hank hadn’t been screwing Sal as well!” 

Sal let out a little squeal of fright and put up her hands, then practically fell backwards in her haste to get away. “Zane, baby, please...don’t… I’m sorry!” then whirled and bolted inside the clubhouse. 

Angry muttering rippled through the assembled bikers, particularly from Hank, who was barely conscious but still cursing as he was being loaded into the backseat of an old Camaro to be taken to the ER. Many of the others were glaring at Wyatt, edging aggressively closer, while others gathered protectively around him.

Wyatt suddenly seemed to come to his senses and shook his head, staring after the fallen man and down at the gun in his hand. He nervously scanned the crowd around him, finding several hostile faces, then pointed at Legion and stammered, “I-it wasn’t me! He made me do it! He hypnotised me or something!”

Legion bristled. “I did NO such thing, you vicious little bastard. I didn’t put that desire there, it was in you all along, and you’d have done it eventually anyway, wouldn’t you?”

Wyatt nodded unthinkingly. “Yeah.” Then caught himself again and hastily shook his head. “No!” He appealed to the crowd around them. “Who are you gonna believe, me or this  _ freak _ ?”

Without waiting for an answer the biker took two steps towards Legion and put his gun in the man’s face.

\-------

Wyatt didn’t know how this crazy son of a bitch had made him blurt out the truth like that, or why he’d chosen this particular moment to finally shoot that scheming shithead Hank, but he didn’t care. He just wanted this guy dead. “Good night, fucko.”

But before he could pull the trigger the dude casually leaned forward and, looking him right in the eyes, took the muzzle into his mouth. And then … bit down. Wyatt pulled the gun back and gaped in disbelief;  _ there were teeth marks on it _ . Indentations deep enough to block the barrel. 

He took a half step backward, feeling a little woozy; he must be seeing things. He hadn’t dropped acid in nearly twenty years but he seemed to be having some sort of crazy vivid flashback. He lifted his gaze to stare open-mouthed at the Freak, who nonchalantly lifted an eyebrow at him, then grinned, his eyes black in the dim light, humourless and unblinking. Wyatt found himself backing away; there was something really  _ off _ about this guy and it was starting to wig him right out.

Wyatt looked around the group. “Did you see that?”

Somebody behind him muttered, “We saw what you did to Hank, you piece of shit.”

There were several mutterings of agreement and Wyatt shook his head. “I told you! It wasn’t me! I know we butted heads, but I didn’t wanna kill him!” 

_ At least, not in front of the entire club,  _ he added silently with a stab of disbelief. He’d been wanting to do it for so long and had a plan all sorted to  _ get _ it done, but he suddenly hadn’t been able to hold himself back anymore. And now there were dozens of witnesses and he was in deep shit. 

He had to skip town. Grab the cash from the safe and head for the border. But first he had to do some fast talking so Hank’s guys didn’t take him out right here and now. He pointed at the Freak again. “He  _ did _ make me do it! He hypnotised me! He’s a goddamn liar! He-” His next words were cut off by a grunt of pain as the naked chick suddenly darted over and belted him hard across the face.

\------

 

Mazikeen had had enough of this human. She backhanded him with enough force to knock him to the ground, then stood over him, fists bunched in fury and a black scowl on her face. 

“Silence! How dare you impugn his honour!”

Behind her Lucifer said mildly, “This cretin is certainly hungry for punishment.” Then he added, “Although to be fair, he  _ was _ right about the ‘God-damned’ part.”

Wyatt dragged himself groggily to one knee, holding his bleeding cheek. He spotted his gun where it had fallen on the ground and stumbled after it, but found his way blocked by a six-foot wall of greasy denim and straggly silver beard. Erwin.

He pushed at him. “Getoutta my way, Erwin!”

The big man didn’t budge. “You’re gonna pay for what you did to Hank, douchebag.”

Wyatt blustered, “Hank’s the douchebag! He was skimming, stealing from us!”

Erwin countered, “Hank wasn’t stealing, asshole! He was getting the rest of us our fair cut! We all know you aren’t doing it, except for your little circle jerk of ass kissers!” Erwin gave Wyatt a hard shove backwards into the people behind him and growled, “Whether Hank makes it or not, you’re fucked, Zane.” Amid angry mumblings of agreement half the gang gathered around him, while the rest moved to stand behind Wyatt. 

“Rebellion,” Lucifer murmured, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”

Wyatt spat a curse and threw himself forward, taking a wild swing that clipped Erwin in the jaw as he reared back out of the way. Erwin retaliated with a sloppy uppercut, and with a roar the two sides rushed at each other, fists and knives flying and angry shouts filling the air.

Mazikeen chuckled with glee and jumped eagerly into the fray, maintaining a clear perimeter around Lucifer as she punched and kicked her way through anyone who dared approach him. 

It had been hours since they’d left Hell and thus hours since she’d drawn blood; she’d been starting to feel a little on edge and was more than ready to unleash Hell upon every human in a hundred-foot radius. These humans didn’t pose much of a challenge but the way their bones broke and their blood slicked her fists on this mortal plane exhilarated her in a way it never had in Hell. She’d heard rumours that things worked differently for celestials on Earth; it changed you, intensified every sensation, and she realised with mounting excitement that it was true. 

Even her own pain was more pleasurable here. She let the humans get the occasional punch in, revelling in the sharp bursts of pain, and basking in the chaos as the humans did their level best to destroy each other. Humans fell all around her, both by her hand and by each other’s, and she sighed with carnal delight. Suffering… punishment... this was what life for a demon was all about and somehow, on Earth, it felt even sweeter than in Hell.  _ I’m liking this place more and more _ , she thought as she happily headbutted another man to the ground.

Close behind her Lucifer managed to get his hands on a human and discover where they kept their drug stash. He was happy enough to let Mazikeen have a little fun; these death-dealing reprobates could do with a little taste of the punishment that awaited them. And oddly, for the first time in centuries he found he was quite keen to get his hands dirty as well. He threw his informant bodily into several of his biker mates brawling by the door, then looked around for another one. Annoyingly however, his demon was taking them all out before they could get to him.

“We’re not in Hell any more, Mazikeen,” he protested irritably as she dropped yet another tattooed troglodyte, stomping him in the balls for good measure. “Don’t be so greedy. Besides, it’s not like these humans can actually  _ do _ anything to me. For the duration of our time on Earth you’re under orders to leave me some.”

Mazikeen stopped and pouted a little, but bowed her head in acquiescence. “As you wish, my Lord.”

When she raised her head she spotted something behind Lucifer and the barest hint of a smile graced her lips. She dived away just as a biker opened fire, putting two bullets point blank into Lucifer’s back.

“Ow! OW! Bloody Hell!” The Devil’s eyes glowed a furious red as he rounded on the shooter. The man howled in terror and started hurriedly backing away.

“He’s not fucking real, man!” he yelled. “He’s a fucking Terminator or some shit!” He turned and bolted in a panic for the main gate and Lucifer smiled grimly to himself.  _ You can run, but you can’t hide... _

He’d started after him when a flat-bladed throwing knife whirred out of the half-darkness towards his head. He caught it one-handed then looked to see where it had come from. A spiky-haired woman stood thirty feet away, staring at him, her mouth dropping open in astonishment.

“ _ What _ did I tell you pillocks about good manners?” Lucifer said indignantly, then flipped the knife around and whipped it back at her. She let out a pained gasp and staggered backwards, the blade between her ribs. She didn’t fall, instead retreating from him as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her.

Meanwhile Mazikeen was dispatching her latest opponent; a big guy with a hunting knife. He lunged toward her and she grabbed his wrist, twisting the blade down and away from her. She smashed him in the face with her elbow and the knife fell from his hand. He reeled back momentarily, then rallied and drove his fist into her cheek. Her head whipped sideways at the impact, but then she turned slowly back to face him, bloodied lips pulled back in a chilling smile.

_ Holy shit, _ Gorski thought in awe from the sidelines,  _ she just  _ **_ate_ ** _ that punch to the face. And that guy’s neck is bigger than her leg! _

The big biker took a couple of surprised steps backwards and the woman followed him, fists bunched. When the man pulled a gun from his waistband Gorski was ready this time. He stood up and bellowed over the chaos, “Long Beach PD! Drop the gun!” Taken by surprise, the man swung his weapon towards him instead, so Gorski put a bullet in his leg. As the man fell and the echo of the shot died away, the woman turned to look at him, along, unfortunately, with all of the gang members.

Everyone just stared, mid-punch, for a couple of beats, then someone yelled, “What the fuck is a cop doing here?!” and suddenly all of them were reaching for their guns. Gorski dived for cover again as they opened fire and fled back along the row of motorbikes as fast as he could, bullets flying around him.

_ Ohshit ohshit ohshit… _

Up ahead there came the sudden loud whoop of multiple police sirens and the flashing of blue and red lights as backup finally arrived. _ Thank Christ! _

The gang scattered, some firing at the new arrivals, some running into the clubhouse and still others leaping onto their motorbikes and taking off to the far end of the compound, the cops in hot pursuit. One guy on his bike bumped Lucifer as he raced past and, getting more and more pissed by the minute, Lucifer went to unfurl his wings to go teach him some manners.

Except… no wings. “Hellfire and damnation!” Lucifer swore in frustration, then looked around for something to throw, settling on a nearby motorcycle. He picked it up by one of the front forks, ran a few steps after the fleeing motorbike and hurled it, the Harley spinning through the air. With a loud shriek of crumpling metal it struck the other bike’s back tyre, knocking it sideways and sending bike and rider careening into a chain link fence. The rider tumbled to the ground, out cold, and Lucifer nodded in satisfaction.

(Later, the forensics team would be stumped as to how one motorbike appeared to have rammed another whilst in reverse. And airborne.)

Lucifer looked around for his demon. Where the Hell was she? He was loath to ruin her fun but they did have more important things to do. 

He found her just as she was heading over to pick a fight with the police. He dragged her off, much to her disappointment, but she was happy enough to leave once they’d grabbed what they’d come for, along with a large pile of money that they’d also found in the safe. She was  _ very _ keen to leave, actually, and the reason for that became abundantly clear when as soon as they were clear of the humans she dropped the bags, threw him up against the alley wall, and attacked him... with her mouth. She kissed him hard, moaning and raking her fingernails down his chest.

“We were  _ with _ them, Lucifer. Among humans as they were in the very  _ act _ of sending themselves to Hell! The anger, the betrayal, the bloodshed… the  _ punishment _ ! It was… I can’t describe it…” She moaned again and to his surprise, bit him hard on the neck. “I’m on fire - are you?” She gripped handfuls of his hair, twisting them as she snogged him with a passion that was almost furious, then turned her back and pushed herself insistently against him. Lucifer chuckled and pulled her close, then turned them both around so that her face was pushed up against the wall. Mazikeen growled and writhed as they rocked together, at one stage even delivering several solid punches to the wall and causing the brickwork to crumble under her fists. 

Punishment didn’t ‘do it’ for him like it did for Mazikeen; she was a demon after all and punishment was her very reason for being. Seeing her so worked up about it definitely did though, and he groaned in ecstasy as the intensity of her desire washed over him. He should have expected that her love of punishment would translate to her sexual proclivities here on Earth, and the possibilities intrigued him. 

Perhaps his demon would like to exercise her skills on  _ him _ . That’d be new! For both of them. And that’s what he was here for, to forget the boredom of those interminable eons doing his father’s bidding and do whatever the Hell he wanted, especially those things his so-called family would disapprove of. He chuckled at the thought.

“You like it, Mazikeen,” he murmured into her shoulder, giving her a hard bite in retaliation. She gasped and Lucifer groaned, feeling her arousal cresting along with his own. “And that’s good enough for me.”

\-----

 

Gorski didn’t have a clue how he’d managed to survive the firefight unscathed, but he decided not to dwell on it. In the immediate aftermath of the brawl he searched the compound for Legion and the unnamed woman but they’d disappeared without a trace. The surviving gang members weren’t any help. A couple of them kept going on about a British Terminator, but the presence of high amounts of both alcohol and drugs in their systems suggested they’d had a bad batch of whatever it was they were were peddling.

As to  _ what _ they were peddling, just shy of three thousand pounds of cocaine was discovered in an unlocked panic room inside the  _ Los Diablos _ clubhouse. Two thousand, nine hundred and fifty pounds, to be precise; there was about fifty pounds missing, along with the club’s considerable cash reserves. An APB was put out on Zane Wyatt and he was apprehended trying to board a flight to Guadalajara. He denied any knowledge of the missing contraband but went down for attempted murder anyway. The guy he’d tried to kill, Hank Cutter, was in a stable condition at Long Beach Memorial and baying for Wyatt’s blood but otherwise staying very tight-lipped about what had happened that night.

The other cops had been shocked to see Gorski upright; apparently Bomb had heard the initial gunshot and assumed the worst, telling dispatch that Gorski had been killed and adding the embellishment that he’d barely survived himself. When informed his partner was very much alive Bomb changed his story, admitting that in the confusion he hadn’t actually seen what happened and claiming he’d given chase after suspects fled the compound.

His fellow cops didn’t buy it, and neither did Internal Affairs. They were very interested to know why he hadn’t backed up his partner and why his gun had been fired - twice - even though he’d never stepped foot in the compound. There was a thorough investigation into his conduct and to Gorski’s delight, he never saw him again. He did send him a card, though. It had a ticking time bomb on the front and  _ Fucks for all your hard work. We’re all going to really miss doing it for you  _ written inside.

As for Nick Legion and his mysterious bodyguard, they were in the wind. There was no record of a Nick Legion on any passenger manifests on any international flights into LAX over the past three months, and no record of a passport ever being issued with that name from the British Embassy, and the woman had refused to give her name. Legion could have very easily faked the accent and be from anywhere. Their descriptions came up with nada as well. Although Gorski did remember that Legion had mentioned the woman’s name in the car once... what was it… he kept thinking ‘Mike’ but that wasn’t right…

Ultimately there was more than enough corroborating evidence from the dozens of witnesses present including himself, so they were quickly forgotten.

As for Gorski, he received a commendation for bravery in the line of duty and was assigned a new partner; Officer Rachel Dancer. Even though he needed a few more years on the beat getting experience before he could sit the detective’s exam, at least it wouldn’t be such a chore with a partner he respected. She busted his balls constantly but was a joy to work with. 

Gorski was thankful every day that they’d run into that odd Englishman and his special ops girlfriend on Junipero Beach back in 2011. But every year when the  _ Santa Ana _ winds came howling in again, none of the ensuing crazy ever came close to the crazy he’d seen that night... and for that he was even more thankful.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> \- Yes, Gorski is totally named after the cop Will Gorski in Sense8 :)  
> \- This story is AU, but Hank Cutter is the name of the Los Diablos' leader in Favourite Son.  
> \- Remember where the 'Mazikeen'/ 'Mike' confusion reference comes from? ;)  
> \- And Gorski's new partner's named 'Dancer' in honour of the fact that that was Chloe's original surname in the pilot. I think maybe it was a musical reference as there's a song called 'Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns' by Mother Love Bone.  
> \- Happy Luci-watching, everyone!! xxx


End file.
